


Simple Salt n' Burn

by Pineprin137



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caretaker Sam Winchester, Gross, Sick Dean Winchester, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22865941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineprin137/pseuds/Pineprin137
Summary: Both brothers are injured, but Dean is definitely worse off.
Kudos: 41





	Simple Salt n' Burn

It had been an extremely long day and Dean was more than ready to pass out curled up next to his brother. Sam was already snoring away thanks to the pain meds the doc had forced them to take before leaving the clinic, but Dean stayed up to service their weapons and take a shower. As per usual, he’d done most of the heavy lifting serving as bait while Sam dug up Casper’s grave and took care of torching the remains.

Unfortunately, the spirit had gotten one good wallop in before going down, throwing Sammy into a headstone and cracking two of his little brother’s ribs. Dean stood up from the chair and stretched his arms over his head, wincing at the pull in his left shoulder. He still couldn’t believe Farmer Brown had tripped him -tripped him- into an open grave. He’d heard the distinct pop of his shoulder dislocating but hadn’t had time to worry about it in the graveyard. Now that they were back in the motel, however, Dean kind of wished he’d made Sam pop it back in before passing out.

He shuffled over to the kitchenette knocking back the whiskey in his glass before placing it in the sink. When he ducked his head and rolled his neck, sharp pain lanced up his jaw and he gripped the counter while he waited for it to subside. Tonight’s spirit had been a lot more hands-on than the brothers were used to.

Besides tripping him, the flickering phantom of the farm’s original owner, Ted Brown, had also slammed the side of Dean’s face into a headstone and attempted to choke the living hell out of him. The entire left side of his face was sore but his jaw and temple hurt the worst. His throat was still an angry red color, the imprint of the vengeful spirit’s spectral fingers pressed into his skin.

On top of the not-so-easy salt-n-burn, the burger Dean had for lunch at the diner in town wasn’t sitting well in his stomach. He’d been gassy all day and even had to excuse himself during their talk with Farmer Brown’s great-granddaughter so he could get intimate with the toilet in her tiny bathroom.

Dean glanced longingly at the vacant spot on the bed before retreating to the bathroom. For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, he sat down on the john with his pants around his ankles and grimaced as his bowels mutinied. Once his stomach calmed, he gently cleaned off his tender asshole --thank God Sammy wasn’t in the mood for sex tonight-- then thoroughly washed his hands and brushed his teeth before crawling into bed behind his brother.

The elder Winchester’s stomach revolted a few hours later.

Dean groaned in his sleep as his belly twisted and churned. He flopped onto his back then rolled to his side, curling protectively around it. A cramp squeezed his abdomen, his fingers clenched the sheets in his fists. His head tossed one way then the other, sweat dripping from his hairline. He panted through his nose, his teeth clenched too tightly to allow any air in or out.

Sam was woken by the pained moan which accompanied the thrashing of his brother’s legs. He smacked his dry lips and coughed, turned over to see what was causing all the movement on the other side of the bed. Dean grunted, his face contorting in the moonlight as Sam watched. The effects of the medication hadn’t totally worn off so he was confused about what was happening beside him. It almost seemed like his brother was in the midst of a nightmare the way his body was twisting awkwardly. But Sam knew that if it was a nightmare, there would also be yelling or mumbling along with punching, kicking, or in one rare case, biting.

“Dean…” Sam murmured, nudging his brother’s shoulder in an attempt to wake him. The only response was another deep groan as Dean grabbed blindly for Sam. Once he found purchase on Sam’s shirt, he twisted his hand until the material bunched in his fist.

Sam could feel himself starting to drift off and fought to keep his eyes open.

Dean made an unsettling barking sound and his body began to twitch and jump on the bed. Sam squinted in the dark trying to figure out what the hell was happening to his brother. Something spilled out of the side of Dean’s mouth and Sam quickly turned him on his side.

Liquid gushed from between his lips. Sam scooted back to avoid getting soaked. With Dean’s hand still caught in his shirt though, he wasn’t able to move very far. More puke flowed onto the bed. Sam tried to yelp when he almost fell off the bed and ended up squeaking.

Dean’s eyes blinked open. “Samm--” a sudden belch brought up more puke. Dean’s eyes widened and he scrambled off the bed.

He didn’t have time to shut the bathroom door or turn on the light, let alone kneel before the toilet or lift the lid. Vomit splattered noisily onto the floor. Dean held onto the counter as it continued to pour out of him. When he finally got a breather, he fell to his knees and flipped the toilet seat up. The loud bang echoed and his temple throbbed as his cheeks once again filled.

“Dean, are you-- Holy shit…” Sam trailed off when he saw the carnage in the bathroom.

There was vomit _everywhere_.

On the floor, the counter, sink, all over the toilet bowl. Hell, Dean was even kneeling in it as he continued to get sick.

Sam carefully leaned forward and snagged the towels off the rack, placing them over the sea of yech before he tiptoed his way over to his brother. Oh God, his poor brother…

Dean’s chin, neck, hands, forearms, and feet were covered with puke. His fingers left a trail as they jerked on the rim of the toilet bowl. Dean’s tee-shirt was drenched with sweat as well as even more vomit that dripped onto his shorts and thighs.

Sam crouched beside his sick brother and placed his hand delicately on Dean’s shoulder. It was one of the only few clean spots Sam could find. “Oh, Dean…”

The illness refused to stop, wave after wave of rusty-colored puke gushing into the bowl as Dean held on for dear life. Sam flushed the toilet when it reached capacity but Dean quickly got to work refilling it.

Almost as suddenly as it began, the vomiting stopped.

Dean fell forward, his body draped over the toilet as his empty stomach clenched painfully. He moaned when Sam touched him, pulled away as much as he could.

“Dude, I know you’re tired, but you are _covered_ in puke.”

Sam lifted his brother by his armpits and removed his clothes before scooping him up and placing him in the tub. “I’m gonna draw you a bath so I can change the sheets. I’ll help put you back to bed after, okay?”

Dean’s head thunked against the wall as exhaustion won out. Sam turned the tap on and adjusted the temperature until it was warm, but not hot. While the tub filled, Sam returned to the bedroom to survey the damage.

As soon as the light clicked on, Sam pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and shut his eyes.

A good portion of the bed was covered by a large brown puddle. Sam’s pillow had been sprayed, the headboard was splattered and there was a small trail leading from the bed to the bathroom.

With a heavy sigh-turned gag, Sam pulled the corners of the sheets out from under the mattress and gathered them up in the center, containing most of the mess.

Next, he used the left-over napkins from their dinner to mop up the nightstand. With not much else he could do, Sam removed Dean’s pillowcase and used that to wipe off the floor and headboard. After pulling the extra linens from the drawer, he remade the bed, positioned the trashcan on the floor next to Dean’s side of the bed and went to help his brother.

Dean’s eyes were closed but his face was scrunched in pain.

Sam knelt beside the tub- he was definitely going to have to do laundry soon- and picked up the washcloth. He soaked it in the warm water before carefully running it over Dean’s body.

Dean hummed and turned his face towards Sam.

Sam smiled softly. “That’s right, Dean. I’m here. I’ll take care of you. You just sleep.”


End file.
